High Class Party Redux

CHECK OUT THE "NOTTINGHAM" ALBUM ON THE PHOTO SITE FOR NEVER BEFORE SEEN PHOTOS FROM SATURDAY'S HIGH CLASS PARTY!

This weekend has definitely been full of ups and downs, but mostly ups. Friday, after another rousing discussion of 19th century British fiction, the lady and I hit up the Clumber Street Starbucks for the usual Friday activity. Although I think I'm abstaining from mocha for a while, it always gets way too intense at the bottom of the mug. Anyways, we had a good time. Previously, I had thought it a prudent idea to try out the fire escape in my room. This consists of a resistance pulley on the wall, a rope with a sling on one end, and a window. Safely strapped into the device, I lept (more like gingerly lowered) out of the window to safety 15 feet below. I emerged with a very strange assortment of rope burns and scrapes from the siding. Anyways, we discovered behind the flat, a graveyard of old organ parts, tables, and other assorted wood items. Which gave Kevin a great idea: why not have a bonfire? That night, we lit up the Weber grill, burned some stuff, and classily (not really) drank wine out of the bottle. In true English fashion, a steady drizzle forced us indoors, but it gave us great ideas for a homeless/chav party next year. It was a good time.


Many Luther people will identify the above photo as taken during the infamous HIGH CLASS PARTY OF 2006. In an attempt to either a) identify our own classiness; b) stave off boredom; c) try and shake our reputation as the lamest group Luther has sent to Nottingham or d) try and (shudder) bond further, the high class party was resurrected this weekend EAST MIDLANDS style. Thus, the Black and White Affair party was held on Saturday night in the flat living room.




As the photos suggest, it was classy, classy, classy. A whole crew of people created quite a plethora of hors d'oeuvres, main dishes, and whatever else. Brandon and Kevin completed the important task of securing enough beverages for all, after a harrowing walk from ASDA involving 14 bottles of liquid in flimsy plastic bags. I myself went on a frantic late afternoon trek through the same ASDA in search of lemons and prosciutto. All that aside, the party was great fun. Once again, it's amazing to see how the group has come together. Great food, classy music, a huge bottle of champagne, good company. Much speculation went into who would become the flat's "third couple," and Kevin found himself in the midst of a playful war between Hilary and Anna. Needless to say, as the night went on, cocktails came out, and we all had a good time.

After the horror of realizing that Mark had delivered the morning paper early Sunday morning, thus seeing firsthand the blaze of destruction left from the previous night, we quickly cleaned everything up. Here's where the lowpoint of the weekend comes in. Many readers may remember a mention a few weeks back of a particularly dramatic flat meeting involving rooming situations for two quarreling females. Anyways, the conclusion made by third party arbitration (Mark and Carol) decided that Ryan and I were to give up our single rooms and move into the big room, so that the two feuding females could have private chambers. Needless to say, as I now write my blog from the considerably less private corner room, I'm pissed. Not pissed about having to live with Ryan, I can deal with that fine. It's just the nature of the move. Personally, I feel as if the "nice guys" are definitely getting the shaft because of an overly dramatic and exaggerated feud. The other issue is the fact that I have receieved no gratitude of any kind from either party on allowing myself to be uprooted in this way, and that angers me. It was just like, "I'm taking your room on Sunday, we'll move at 9:30 AM." I find it to be incredibly disrespectful. And to cap it all off, I liked having my own room. A lot. Gah, this is just really lame.

Irritating move aside, today saw my debut onto the amateur British baseball scene. I was the starting center fielder for our game against Manchester. Think of the worst possible conditions to play ball in. Conditions that any conscious person in North America would cause them to think "No way are they actually going to play in that weather." Yes, we played in them. A biting wind, frigid cold, nearly horizontal rain, and a muddy field gave the perfect lesson on why Britain is not the ideal location for a baseball game. There were times I thought my fingers would fall off. Nonetheless, we all persevered, and ended up victorious by a final score of 9-5 in 5 innings. I grounded out in my first at bat, then walked in my second, and ended up scoring a run. One thing became abundantly clear. This is not Major Leage Baseball. You are much more likely to be walked than to hit the ball, such is the nature of the pitching. Errors are common. But even with the appalling weather and lame gameplay, I had fun. Followed the game up with that most British of celebrations; a pint and a plate of chips and sausages at a local pub.

So, that's the weekend. And it was good. For all of you curious church readers, yes, Emily and I are still dating, and no, I don't think she's a corrupting influence on me (yet). She does have a bit of a penchant for white wine and floofy cocktail drinks, but I think I can handle that (tongue in cheek). My mom said there were some concerns. So, right. Tomorrow features the finishing of Barchester Towers for the British Novel class, and possibly a run downtown for some coffee. As well as attempting to firm up spring break plans and start booking accomodations. Great adventure awaits. T-minus 8 days until the Father arrives, direct from Minnesota (with stops in Ireland and Scotland). I'm looking forward to showing him around Notts, as well as getting my extremely comfortable brown moccasins. That's all for now. Later.